


Memes In Time And Space

by soupytwist



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupytwist/pseuds/soupytwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now it's time for some fanfic in the style of old-time radio!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memes In Time And Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindkit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindkit/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Kindkit!
> 
> Thanks, beta reader friends, for all your help.

_

Sit down, leave that back button alone!

It's here! We're in the Yuletide fic zone!

Bring snacks: you may need to read while alone.

It's Yuletide Fanfic Time!

 

Get set, to see your ship sail away!

You bet, adventure's here (and quite gay)!

Forget your cares: fandom's more fun anyway!

It's Yuletide Fanfic Time!

 

Take a canon-bending trip to anywhen

With the Royal Chrono-Patrol!

There may be euphemisms: I mean,

What even IS a Time Hole?

 

Marco-Polo's on a bender

Tutankhamen explores gender

and I think something went on

With Al Capone

And his rather sexy clone...

 

You'll see!

That you can write anyone!

AUs about Attilla the Hun!

Feel free to set your browsers for fun!

It's Yuletide Fanfic Time!

_

__

“Something seems different,” says Colonel Tick-Tock. “Are you all right, man?”

Bob McCrumbs shakes himself down and considers the view. Pretty trees. Blue sky. Definitely not England. “All right. Bit of a thump there, though. Where do you reckon we are?”

“When, my dear boy! Unless I'm very much mistaken – and I absolutely never am-”

Bob definitely does not mention that one time. Or that other time. Or that other other time. Or the _other_ other other time that technically hasn't happened yet.

“- I have no idea.”

“Right.”

“Trick-Clock?”

“Yes, sir?” says Trick-Clock. Bob jumps a bit, because even though they've been on quite a few adventures together now, Trick-Clock's strangely disembodied voice coming out of nowhere is always a surprise.

The Colonel waves a hand. “What happened?”

“I can only tell you, sir, that you and Mr McCrumbs seem to have undergone a change of medium.”

“A change of medium?” 

“Yes, sir.” Trick-Clock metaphorically clicks his, her, or its heels.

“What does that mean when it's at home, then?” asks Bob. “A change of what medium?”

“... it's a technical term.” The Colonel turns round. “Trick-Clock, are we experiencing Procrastination?”

“Yes sir.”

“Increased adverbal turbulence?”

“Yes sir.”

“And the little thing that goes 'kablooey' is going 'kablooey'?”

“Indubitably, sir.” There is a small noise that may or may not be the thing going 'kablooey'.

“But no, it cannot be!”

“Colonel?” Bob realises as he speaks that he sounds exactly as though the person he was travelling through time and space with had just said something vaguely foreboding and then refused to explain it. “It can't be what? Exactly?”

“Bob, although you are my trusted confederate and you have saved my life, at last count, thirteen and a half times, I would spare you this!”

“Sir, you really can't not tell me. That's harsh.”

“Actually I can. Section XXI of the Chrono-Patrol Guidelines is quite specific. But I will tell you! I very much fear it might be the Great and Terrible Meme. And it means that we cannot leave this time, for reasons which are as yet mysterious and inexplicable.”

“Sir. This Great and Terrible Meme. Does it make people run around in the buff?”

“No, why?”

Bob points. “Cause there's a lot of them right behind you.”

The Colonel turns and sees that there are, in fact, an awful lot of naked people.

“They don't seem to be doing anything but running around looking extremely... athletic.”

“What do you think it means, sir?”

“I think it means that we're in classical Greece.”

“Oh.” Bob considers that. He hasn't personally had what you might call a classical education, but well, even a chippie hears things.

“Well it's either that or 28th century Mars, but there's rather too many olive groves around here for that.”

“True enough sir.”

There is an awkward pause, of the kind where two gentlemen, one of whom is a loyal servant of Her Majesty's Chronoguard and the other a chip shop worker who also has an interest in chronological issues, don't really know what to say.

“...sir?”

“Yes, Bob?”

“Is that a picnic hamper next to you?”

“Why yes, it is.” The Colonel opens the hamper, which is amply kitted out with delicious sandwiches, some cake, and a pot of tea. There may even be lashings of ginger beer. They find a spot to sit and end up leaning against a tree.

It's a little bit idyllic. Some time passes, and mellifluous music such as would accompany a particularly heartwarming advert for bread might be metaphorically wafting through the air. They don't mention the parade of oiled up athletic young men wearing no clothes, but it adds a certain frisson to proceedings.

“Colonel?”

“Yes, Bob?”

“There doesn't seem to be much... Terrible Memeing going on.”

“Hmm. Now you mention it, you're right.” Colonel Tick-Tock is of course too professional to ever be what you might describe as _distracted_ , but if he ever were, Bob thinks that might be what it would sound like.

“Isn't that a bit...suspicious?”

“It is, Bob. And that reminds me of -”

“I can't keep silent any longer! It was I who stranded you here!”

Both Bob and the Colonel do a double take which would, if this were an internet-based radio show and not a fanfic written for the world's premiere festive gift exchange, be audible.

“ _Trick-Clock?_ ”

“Yes! I kept us here! I made you a picnic!”

Bob looks suspiciously at the Colonel. “You could have said you didn't pack that hamper. What if it was poisoned?”

“Well it wasn't!” 

Colonel Tick-Tock makes a gesture which indicates this is, for the present (whatever that may be), less relevant to the matter at hand. Bob pulls a face which indicates that he does consider it relevant, as a culinary professional who takes food safety standards seriously. But he can't disagree that it's not currently the most pressing issue.

Trick-Clock continues, apparently having been needing to say this for a while.

“You didn't even notice the nice aliens I found who wanted to ask you about courtship rituals!”

“I noticed 'em,” says Bob. “Thought that was weird.”

“I _locked you in a room together_ in the Moulin Rouge and you played card games all night!”

“That was you?” exclaims the Colonel. “Trick-Clock, but why?”

Trick-Clock sighs. “Mostly I was hoping you'd stop mooning over each other, but that doesn't seem likely now, does it.”

“....mooning?” says Bob.

“Over each other?” says Colonel Tick-Tock.

“Yes! And before you ask, it _is_ in my programming – I'm designed to be helpful.”

“By whom, I'd like to know. Oh, Trick-Clock, what have you done?”

“Sir?” Bob sounds more confused now, less like another adventure is causing a problem and more like his boss and secret object of his affections has suddenly started acting in a most unusual manner after his AI that is in no way a riff on a famous science fiction TV serial admitted to trying to set them up.

“Bob, you innocent soul! Little do you know of the stirrings of a military man or the cold, lonely nights-”

“I work Friday nights after the pubs close, you can't tell me about cold lonely nights. And you've got a wife!”

“...ah, Constance. She's a very understanding woman, in many ways, and -”

Bob, it appears, has shut the Colonel up in the most classically approved manner. There are some noises which would definitely not be broadcast, if this were an internet-based radio show.

Some time elapses.

“Trick-Clock?”

“Yes Colonel?”

“You can consider yourself forgiven.”

“Thankyou sir.” 

Trick-Clock sounds extremely smug, in a mechanical yenta kind of way. Bob and the Colonel both pretend they haven't noticed this. Bob takes the Colonel's hand.

“You still want to travel, then? I mean, together?” 

“Of course, Bob. As long as you'll have me. And since we technically don't age while working for the Chrono-Patrol, that could be forever!”

“....did you _mean_ to sound a bit scary, there, sir?”

“Of course I did!”

 

__

_

So cheers, you read all the way to the end!

The rest of the archive awaits you, my friend!

I hope you're still enjoying the trend

of Yuletide Fanfic Time!

_


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